“As you have already surmised, your power enables youto summon the veil because you are a direct descendant of the gods. What is in you is in the veil.”
“All Visya have kernels of godlike power,” Gregor interrupted.
“Godlikeis not the same as gods-born,” Lorna corrected. “The potency of Evie’s power is unlike that of the Visya.”
Gregor frowned. “So one must have god blood to summon the veil without wasting away.”
Lorna shook her head.
“Not necessarily.” She motioned to Aya. “The Second Saint was able to summon the veil twice. Once, in the desert during the Soul Trail of the Vaguer, and once in Tala, when she brought the Original Saint into this world. Yet the blood of the gods does not run through her veins.”
The Vaguer peered at Aya curiously, but she was too focused on Lorna to pay them much mind.
“I believe,” the Saj continued, “the issue lies in power taken versus power given. The Diaforaté have struggled with the veil because their power is stolen. While Aya’s raw power soothes the irritation the mixing of the affinities causes, it does not retain the same potency as it does for her. There are consequences for reaching for power that is not bestowed upon us.”
Lorna looked between Aya and Evie, her lips pulling tight in a look of grim concession.
“Accidental or not, Evie’s power was given to Aya of her own accord. It does not matter that it was intended for the veil and not Aya. It parted from her willingly. Hence the likeness in them.”
Aya’s heart had begun to race, a quick, frantic beat that made it difficult to focus on Gregor as he said, “So the girl must willingly give her power to the Diaforaté.”
“Or open the veil herself,” Evie interjected, her brows furrowed as she stared at Aya.
“Your Holiness,” one of the Vaguer interjected as shestepped forward, her gray robes swishing against the stone floor. “Surely the Saj seeks to misinform you. We are working with the Diaforaté on achieving the full extent of the Decachiré—”
“A feat that bestowed powers to humans, but never once aided in destroying the veil,” Evie interrupted, her gaze still locked on Aya. “They are not the same.”
“I agree with the Vaguer,” Gregor asserted. “I have studied alongside you, Your Holiness, and not once did I form such a baseless hypothesis.”
Evie’s lips pursed, irritation flicking across her features as she finally broke her stare. “A fact that speaks more to your abilities than it does to this Saj, I’m afraid.”
Gregor’s face flushed in the wake of the insult. Aya watched as his jaw twitched. “So the girl is a waste if she doesn’t give her power willingly,” he gritted out. “We are better off killing her now and usingyouto open the veil.”
The room went deathly still, and Aya couldn’t be sure if the cold that snaked down her spine was an effect of her own instincts registering a threat, or Evie sending the temperature plummeting.
Either way, the demigod’s eyes flashed as she turned to face Gregor fully. “Be careful how you speak to me, Gregor,” she advised cooly. “I am not a weapon to be used by mortals.”
“No,” Gregor agreed. “You claim to be a demigod, and yet you refuse to use your godly power to challenge those who killed you.” The king took a step toward Evie, anger contorting his features, the source of his irritation finally brought to light. “Tell me,” he rumbled, “what type ofgodcowers before—”
The king’s words cut off with a gargle as Evie’s hand shot out, her power extending from her fingers like a dark shadow. It wrapped around the king’s throat, sending him gasping as his fingers clawed at the shadow.
It was no better than clawing at smoke.
His guards yelled and drew their weapons, but Evie held out a hand in their direction. “Take another step and he dies,” she warned.
Slowly, she eased her power back, the shadows dissipating into the rays of light filtering through the throne room.
“You forget yourself, Your Majesty,” Evie chided, her voice gentle once more. But there was a flush to her cheeks, and Aya watched as it spread down the saint’s neck.
Evie, ever imperturbable, had finally ceded to her emotions.
Aya swallowed hard as she stared at where those shadows had been. Aya had thought she had seen an example of Evie’s anger at the port in Sitya. But this…was the rage of a god.
And it was only a meretaste.
Gregor gulped down lungfuls of air, his eyes wide and laced with fear as he stared at her. He was no better than the rest of them, Aya realized. They were all puppets on her string, waiting to be jerked in whatever direction she chose.
Evie smoothed her hands down her robes. “Now,” she said levelly, “as for the Second Saint—”
